


Tomb Raider: The Awakening

by Meldelen



Category: Tomb Raider & Related Fandoms, Tomb Raider (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Fanfiction, Lara Croft - Freeform, The Awakening - Freeform, Tomb Raider, anna croft - Freeform, kurtis trent - Freeform, traod sequel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-28
Updated: 2016-09-17
Packaged: 2018-06-05 02:10:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6685033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Meldelen/pseuds/Meldelen
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The rebels have risen against the government of Sri Lanka and Lara is trapped, along with Anna, in a sacred area surrounded by jungle. The only way is the flight, but then a terrible incident unleashes a latent force.<br/>Post Lilith's Scepter. LCxKT. Introducing Anna Croft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. A Helicopter Needed

Colonel Matthew Kendrick dryly gave his last orders and climbed in threes the steps separating his office from the rest of the camp. He turned and quickly scanned the panorama. In the distance, he could see the columns of smoke, the distant exploding bombs and the attenuated burst of firearms.

They were running out of time.

Three days ago, war had broken out in that forgotten corner of the world, that jungle end of Sri Lanka. Not really _peaceful_ before - hence the presence of the French Foreign Legion there - but this time everything had gone to hell. The rebels had risen up in arms, the government was passive, and as usual, the UN was reluctant to get involved. Without international approval reinforcements couldn't be sent, and at that time they lacked logistics to face the threat. They had to skedaddle and leave the base to its fate.

What the fuck were they doing there? Three years of skirmishes with the local guerrillas and that disgusting jungle, to end up fleeing like cowards.

He gave a last glance at the truckloads of soldiers leaving the camp and hurried into his office. He had spent the last hours burning documents, not just because there was _so much_ to hide, but also because it was impossible to take them with. He just needed to get his stuff and...

A muddy jeep stopped in front of the bunkhouse with a violent halt. That caught Kendrick's attention, who immediately picked up a rifle and walked toward the door. What on earth was going on? He'd been very clear when ordering to evacuate the camp.

“What the...!?” He felt shocked when recognizing the man jumping down from the seat and striding toward him. “I'll be damned...!”

Suddenly a bomb exploded just a few meters from the camps' entrance and blew up another bunkhouse. Kendrick swore and staggered. The newcomer held him, grabbing him by the collar of his jacket, and dragged him into the office.

“Holy shit!” Said the colonel, cheerful, as if the world wasn't collapsing around them, and patted his arm enthusiastically. “Kurtis _fucking_ Trent! The hell are you doing here?”

As if being at home, the ex-legionnaire strode to the armory, opened the door with a yank, pulled out a FAMAS and started loading it at full speed.

“I need a helicopter.” He said in reply.

Kendrick blinked, stunned.

“You're kidding, right?” He ran his hand through his short hair. “How many years has it been? Ten, fifteen?”

“Twenty.” He dryly replied, and he slung the bullpup rifle over his shoulder. He was dressed in camouflage and had a huge handgun holstered under his armpit. Then he put his hand in the closet again and began pulling out grenades.

“Twenty years! You disappeared without a trace. In fact”, he scratched his ear, distracted, “I thought you were dead, actually. What have you been up to? And that haircut?”

“Can you give me that fucking helicopter or not?” Kurtis muttered, still ransacking the ammo closet as if it was his own. “No time for chit-chat, Matt!”

_“_ _Colonel Kendrick_ , asshole.” Matt pointed the insignia at his jacket, annoyed. “I've risen pretty much since you vanished. And what the hell you think you're doing? You can't just show up here and steal weapons and transport!”

His former regiment mate turned on his heel and brandished a large knife before him.

“Kabul, 1996. You owe me one.”

Kendrick sighed.

“Yeah, you saved my ass. Those Taliban were gonna fuck me up. But letting you sweep weapons and a helicopter from a camp can end with me facing a firing squad.”

“What about destroying files?” Kurtis brandished the knife toward the sooty black metal barrel full of ashes. “This is an evacuation. Nobody is doing inventory right now.”

Another explosion sounded in the distance. The colonel sighed.

“Okay. Tell me why you want the helicopter.”

The ex-legionnaire took a map of the island, unfolded it with a slap and, without further explanation, sticked the knife at the north end. Kendrick snorted.

“Impossible to land there. It's all jungle, the ground isn't visible.”

“I can. I'm the best pilot you've ever had.”

“I forgot you're a cocky bastard. What for? There are only ruins, temples, tombs and dead, so many dead.”

“That's where I'm going. Extraction of two civilians.”

He'd continued arming himself to the teeth while talking with short, dry and fast sentences. He looked like Rambo with ants in his pants.

“Two civilians? All this fuss for _two civilians?_ Are you nuts?”

“I've always been a softie.”

Now he was being sarcastic.

“Tell me the truth and I'll help, I promise.”

Kurtis turned, enervated, and pulled the knife off the map.

“I _don't_ need your fucking help! I need a _fucking_ helicopter! _Now!”_

Another explosion sounded closer. The ceiling lamp vibrated and a thin layer of dust fell on them.

Kendrick snapped to attention.

“I'm a damn colonel, and you were only a caporal, you're an ex-soldier. This is not for you...”

“You wouldn't be colonel right now if you were killed in Kabul, and you're alive thanks to this _caporal and ex-soldier._ ” Kurtis pointed at his chest with the knife, challenging. But then he gave up. “I need to pick up a woman and a girl there. Westerners. And I've got to do it _now_.”

The colonel gaped.

“The hell are doing a woman and a g...?” He was interrupted by Kurtis' glare. “It's too late. The north of the island is in the rebels' hands. Just a matter of time before they get raped, butchered and thrown into a ditch.”

“Probably, if I'm still here taking your shit!”. The ex-legionnaire banged his fist against the table. “It's _my daughter_ , Matt. And her mother. Give me that fucking helicopter and get the hell outta here!”

Kendrick gaped again. Then he jumped from his chair:

“Damn, you could have said that before.”

He'd always been a bit slow to read between the lines.

Three minutes later, Kurtis jumped in the pilot's seat and frantically lit the controls. Indeed, he'd been one of the Legion's best pilots, but that was twenty years ago. Kendrick knew nothing about him and no one in their right mind would even think of landing in the middle of a jungle. Fortunately, in his recent missions he'd been familiar with the most modern models.

Kendrick might have gone with him. Despite shouting, insults and fuss, they had been companions and yeah, he owed Kurtis his life. So he let him do it, which in a logical and orderly chain of military command, in any other context that wasn't that havoc, would mean court martial with a bad ending.

“You're totally nuts, y'know?” He shouted from afar, clutching his cap. “And since when are you a family man?”

But he was no longer listening. The sound of the propellers was deafening.

 

* * *

 

 

It was wrong. No matter how many times she tried, it was wrong. She clutched the pencil in her hands, then gritted her teeth, and finally threw it on the pile of sketches.

“Fuck!” She muttered. Almost instantly she regretted it. She shrugged and looked around quickly. But her mother was not around.

Luckily, since she hated swearing. Lara Croft was very strict about _“that legionnaire jaw you've learned from your father"_ and although she struggled to control it, it always sprouted up when she was angry.

There was no way that drawing would come out well. She felt frustrated.

Fidgeting on the wooden bench, Anna scrunched her face like a pig's snout and put the pencil between her nose and upper lip while she examined the sketch. Then she picked up the artifact her mother had recovered from the main temple area two days earlier, and spun it in her hands. A beautiful piece of amber, like a drop, carved with thousands of wavy and zigzag lines. The Teardrop of Brahma.

She'd tried to draw it from every possible angle but it was hopeless. And that was frustrating because she was _really_ good at drawing. Another thing she'd learned from her father, who had an innate talent for it, and it was something that, for a change, her mother didn't complain about.

If only he was there to help her. Anna was dumbfounded whenever Kurtis grabbed a pencil and with short, quick gestures, created a world in a moment. She was really good for her age, but also dreamed of being like him someday.

But of course she'd never make it if she kept on with that crap.

She tore the sheet, crumpled it into a ball and threw it over the pile of objects Lara had taken from the temple. Then she fell back on the seat into a squatting position, sulking.

“Waste of time.” She muttered through clenched teeth, another inherited bad habit.

Suddenly she heard a rumbling in the distance. She concentrated her hearing.

It had vanished. That was odd, it had sounded like a...

There it was. Again. And now there was no doubt.

It was an explosion. A bomb or a landmine.

But... in this place?

She immediately jumped from the bench and ran toward a tree. Almost immediately she turned and went back, grabbed the Teardrop of Brahma, and put it into her shoulder bag. She slung it over her shoulder, turned to the tree and began to climb.

Among the many things she was learning since the age of twelve, when she joined her mother on some of her trips, was that never, _never_ should an artifact be left behind for any reason. Most times it was risky enough just to retrieve it without her losing it after. In fact, Lara had left it there with Anna not just for her to practice her drawing by documenting its appearance and details...

...Her mother was also testing her. And Anna had no intention of being a disappointment.

She continued to climb, panting, clinging to the trunk and moving from branch to branch. Fortunately, the huge jungle trees were easy to climb, full of foliage and easily handled by anyone with a minimum of physical condition.

Unfortunately, the tree was huge, massive, soaring, so she took several minutes to reach the top. She dropped herself, sweating, on the last safe branch, and after checking its safety she peered above the tangle of leaves.

What she saw left her speechless.

“Oh no!” She shouted. A flock of parrots flew shrieking a few meters from her, scared by her voice.

There was a column of smoke rising over the horizon. Black smoke. Burning gasoline, if she guessed right. She also heard something in the distance, dimmed by the natural sounds of the jungle.

Shooting. Shrapnel blasts. And the distant rumble of engines.

Then she saw a shadow approaching. She looked at it carefully. The rattling and muffled sound came to her before she could even distinguish what it was.

A helicopter. And it came toward there.

“Damn it.” She muttered. Well, that was no time to worry about swearing.

She adjusted the shoulder strap around her body and started descending the tree, trying to remember where she had stepped before. But she went down so fast and giddy that she soon misstepped, lost her footing and began to fall uncontrollably, smacking against leaves and branches. Luckily she managed to grab a branch to stop her fall and descended more carefully, mumbling curses under her breath.

Indeed, this wasn't one of her easy days.

 

* * *

 

 

That pilot was really taking his chances. Well, she had done real crazy things not only with helicopters, but also airplanes, motorcycles, cars and all kinds of vehicles. But going down among that mass of soft and unstable foliage covering the top of the jungle was something she was not crazy enough to try.

It was going to crash, no doubt.

Lara shrugged, pulled back her braid with a slap and headed towards the small clearing where they had their camp. She wasn't surprised to not see Anna around there. There was no way that girl could stay still, not for half an hour anyway.

She took a quick look at the drafts and picked up the crumpled paper ball thrown at a distance. She smiled, almost hearing her grumbling, wrinkling her nose as she tried to depict the artifact from different angles, and dropping some occasional soldier curse.

In fact, Lara was hearing her _now_.

She approached one of the large trees surrounding the clearing in time to see her dropping from the latest branch to the ground, sweaty and red as a tomato. She almost smiled again at seeing her landing with flawless elegance, but then she noticed her facial expression.

“Mom!” She shouted, and stopped to catch her breath. Lara frowned. It had been fourteen years... and she still couldn't get used to _that_ word. “There's a war out there!”

She'd guessed. So that was the distant havoc inexorably moving toward there.

_No_ , she thought, shuddering. _No. This damn place was safe._

It wasn't anymore.

Wordlessly, she entered the tent and ran to the radio. Maybe she could contact the archaeologists who had hired her to recover the Teardrop of Brahma. They had left them up there with their jeep, but taking back it with them. They only had one vehicle... damn cuts to government subsidies.

With microphone in hand, she hesitated. Then she dropped it. No, it was too dangerous. If the rebels had indeed come up in arms - if they'd only waited for a few hours - the frequency could be tapped.

So, they were caught in the middle of the jungle, among the ruins, in a real battlefield.

“Great.” Lara sighed. “Just great.”

It took her a moment to realize her daughter was standing there, staring at her, covered with dirt, twigs and with scratches on her face, arms and legs. It wasn't usual to see Lara unsure about what to do, and she'd noticed it, still looking at her with her striking blue eyes.

That girl need something to take care of.

“Pick up our stuff.” Lara said, and the girl nodded frantically. “Just the essentials, you know. Let's go to the base.”

“But...”

“Everything will be fine. Keep calm.” And then Lara smiled. “You take care of the artifact”.

Anna smiled back and seemed to relax.

“Roger that!” She said, patting her shoulder bag, and started collecting things. She pocketed the paper ball absentmindedly. Not that it was a must, but perhaps she could show it to her father and find out what the hell she was doing wrong.

If they ever saw him again, she thought grimly, but determined to not to be scared. At least for now.


	2. The Teardrop of Brahma

“Ha!” Kurtis exclaimed, wiping the sweat from his forehead. “Choke on that, Kendrick!”

Not that he was there to see it, but no matter. It felt so good after all.

He'd just landed an attack helicopter on a narrow clearing surrounded by trees whose branches intertwined with each other, forming a dense network of thick foliage. No sane pilot would have tested that several tons of machinery by making it descend in such a place.

But Kurtis hadn't reached his forties guided by sanity. Rather the opposite.

Now, however, he had to shelve the war hero bravado and move quickly and quietly. He'd already taken his chances with the engine roar. He jumped off the machine, rifle on his shoulder, and quickly went into the jungle, in the direction marked by the GPS, toward the temples forecourt. After a while, the vegetation became thicker, so he pulled out a machete and started to hack through his path while running, though sweating profusely beneath the camouflage suit.

Suddenly, a shot stopped him. Almost instantly he threw himself to the ground, disappearing beneath the thick foliage.

Then he heard her voice.

“Who's there? Come out immediately, I heard you long ago!”

Kurtis was not stupid enough to move yet. He knew she would no doubt shoot.

He smiled, his face still stuck to the floor.

“It's me, M'lady.”

He heard a gasp of surprise, and then he rose.

He may have been wearing a camouflage suit, but after seeing Lara come out from behind a tree, still holding the rifle aloft, he had to admit he could have passed next to her and still not have seen her. Lara was wearing brown shorts, green top, and was slightly covered with a dark substance that looked like soot, perfectly camouflaged.

“What are you doing here?” She said, lowering her rifle. She was so surprised that she barely reacted when he put his arm around her to kiss her.

“Nice to see you too.” He said mockingly. “Just crossing the world to look for you, remember? It's what I do to hang out.”

“Weren't you in Crimea?” She frowned, ignoring the tongue-in-cheek allusion to Munich.

“That was a month ago.” He gently pushed her forward and started walking. “This time it was Israel.”

“What the hell is going on out there?” Lara put the rifle on her shoulder. “This country was safe a few hours ago.”

“Nope. It was safe _a week ago_ , then communications with the outside were cut.” She raised her eyebrows. “Don't worry, easy not to know if one's involved in tombs. Dead people tell no tales.”

“Rebels were supposed to be calm for a while.” Lara swatted branches away as they moved. “For years they'd been taking bribes from the government.”

“Not anymore. And this will only worsen. Even the Legion is leaving the place. Where's Anna?

“By the temples, breaking down the camp.”

He frowned.

“You left her alone?”

Lara stopped short and put her arms akimbo.

“Behold the dad of the year. She's not a child anymore. Besides, what did you expect from me by having a military helicopter land here? Waiting for some lunatic to fall upon us?

“We're in a war zone now, we shouldn't lose sight of her.” He said, resuming the march. She was grateful he used the plural.

“There's also this guy, quite a slinky one. I thought it was you...”

“Who?”

But before Lara could answer, a sharp cry pierced the air.

It was Anna.

 

* * *

 

David Flynck couldn't believe his luck. He'd been rotting in the jungle for a week, waiting for an opportunity to seize the Teardrop of Brahma. At the end of the day, it was his only option. He'd no desire to deal with the possible pitfalls or mazes in those temples and cemeteries. It was easier to wait for Croft to recover it, and then steal it from her. That was what he did for a living, for what he was paid. Steal from thieves and collect a huger price.

Unfortunately, he was not enthusiastic about facing the British explorer, even more if she was armed to the teeth. Perhaps he'd have challenged her to a fight, of course, but it was foolish to approach her with that arsenal at her disposal.

Ironically, motherhood had _not_ softened her at all.

Luckily for him, she'd brought the brat there. And on top of that, she'd given her the artifact. And now the girl was alone in the camp. Perfect. It would be a piece of cake. He wouldn't even need to use his gun. And in any case, it was risky. Croft could always hear the shooting.

He went out the wilderness and slowly approached the camp, taking advantage of the distracted girl, who was putting something into a backpack.

But never in his wildest dreams he'd have imagined that kid had such sharp hearing.

And that she could scream very, very loud. And so high-pitched.

 

* * *

 

When they arrived to the clearing, it was too late. They were too far away from them.

Like in slow motion, Kurtis saw the man, a sort of scruffy explorer wielding a club made of a splintered thick tree branch, pouncing on Anna, who dodged him by stepping aside. However, the man managed to grab the strap over her shoulder and yanked it. She grabbed the bag and resisted the pull.

 _No!_ Kurtis wanted to scream, but almost instantly the man brandished the stick, arced it above his head and crashed it into Anna's head.

Her daughter slumped on the floor like a rag doll.

Kurtis heard a piercing, blood-curdling scream. He took a few seconds to realize it had come from Lara.

He lunged forward, toward that man, but that man had no intention of fighting. He tore the bag from Anna's limp hands and turned to flee. He didn't get far. At three strides, a shot was heard and he stumbled and fell to the floor, letting out a howl of pain.

Lara reloaded the rifle and took aim again, but the man, displaying a strength fueled by fear, limped into the jungle. The second shot struck the bark of a tree, a few centimeters away from his head.

Everything had happened in seconds, and for once, Kurtis' mind failed to assimilate so much in so little time.

He wanted to examine Anna, but the alienated expression on Lara's face frightened him. He grabbed her arm before she went into the wilderness.

“Don't!” He shouted, but she released herself from his grip with a stretch. _“Lara!”_

“Stay with her!” Shouted the British explorer, with a sudden broken voice.

He caught her again before she reached the jungle, surrounding her with his arms, and hissed in her ear:

“If this is about that damn rock...”

She broke the embrace, turned like a peg-top and, leaning both hands on his chest, pushed him back. She almost threw him to the ground. Kurtis had almost forgotten how strong she was, even more with adrenaline pumping all throughout her body.

“I need to catch him,” she shouted, with a terrible expression on her face. “Do what I tell you and take care of her, dammit!”

And then Lara disappeared into the wilderness.

 

* * *

 

Later, he'd recall he'd bent over his daughter with bated breath, fearing the worst, and had let out the breath he'd been holding between his teeth when he saw she was still breathing, although weakly. Anna had half of her face soaked with blood. Kurtis pulled back her sticky hair from her forehead and touched the wound, a gash caused by the splinters of the club, which bled profusely. He quickly tore a piece of cloth from her shirt, which was cleaner than his own, and pressed it against the wound. She didn't even wince.

However, rather than the cut, what troubled him was the impact. He need to check the damage as soon as possible.

“Anna.” He softly slapped her cheek. “Anna, wake up.”

The girl's eyelids quivered faintly. He slapped her harder.

“Anna.” He repeated, louder. “Look at me.”

Then she winced and opened her eyes. She blinked and winked, because the blood trickled over the eyelid.

“Wow.” She muttered, and closed her eyes again. “Hum, hi Dad.”

At least she'd recognized him.

He spread the cloth, already soaked, from the wound. It seemed to bleed less. He again pressed it against the cut.

“Ouch.” Anna complained. “You hurt me.”

“Can you see me well?” Kurtis put a thumb on her cheek and pulled down to open the eye that wasn't covered in blood. The pupil correctly focused on him. “Follow my finger.”

He watched her slowly follow the movement back and forth.

“I'm getting dizzy.” She muttered, raising her hand to touch her head, but Kurtis pulled it away. “I think my head's gonna explode.”

“Can you move?” He removed the cloth from the wound, which was soaked anyway, and placing his hands behind her head, he lifted her a few inches from the ground.

Then it happened as expected. Anna convulsed and barely had a second to turn sideways before noisily vomiting on his lap.

“Yuck.” She gasped. “Sorry.”

“I've had worse.” Kurtis said, and putting his arms under her back and legs, he lifted her slowly off the ground. She shivered.

“I'm dizzy again.”

“Then throw up away from me this time, please.”

Anna glanced over him and laughed weakly.

He laid her gently on a nearby cot and took the hand of a first aid kit nearby.

“Keep talking, Anna.”

“Why?”

“I'm very quiet, as you know.”

While she talked, she’d stay conscious. And while conscious, she'd avoid a dangerous coma.

“Mom went after that guy.”

It was a statement, not a question.

“I'm afraid so.” Kurtis returned to her side, soaked a gauze in peroxide, and said. “This' gonna hurt.”

“Please, I'm not a baby.” But when feeling the burning liquid on the wound, she shivered and whimpered. “Oh. Ouch.”

The bleeding had stopped, but the cut was quite deep. He had to stitch it, and there was no local anesthetic in the kit. Anyway, it would've been impossible to apply it on an open wound.

 _Who's my brave girl?_ He wanted to say, but no voice came out of him. “Anna ...”

“Yeah, okay, I gotta talk.” Kurtis cleaned the blood from her eyelid. “I'm sorry Mom's gone after this guy. It won't do any good, because...” She stopped. “What's _that?_ ”

Kurtis was pulling a needle and strand from the kit.

“Oh no, you’re gonna stitch me.”

“Well.” He said, trying to sound nonchalant. “You better be glad it's me. Your mother is horrible at stitching. And she's even worse when removing stitches, I can tell.”

When trying to pass the thread through the needle, Kurtis failed several times. Then he realized that his hands were shaking.

 _You moron_ , he berated himself. He'd stitched wounds hundreds of times, almost always _his own_ wounds. He'd been able to do it without a blink. He'd also stitched his partners on the battlefield. He could have stitched any kind of wound.

But now his hands were shaking because he'd to stitch his own daughter.

 _Idiot_ , he thought, opening and closing his hands several times, until he managed to control the shaking. He passed the thread and bent over Anna, whose eyes were shut tight and hadn't seen his hesitation.

“You're quiet again.” He slowly gathered the wound lips. “I'll have to do the talking, and I totally suck at that.”

“Not feeling like talking now, y'know. Ouch!” She shouted as she felt the needle digging into her flesh. “It hurts!”

“What a whiner.”

“I'm not whining!”

“Yes you are.”

Anna clenched her jaw and held her breath.

It became easier as he progressed, stitch after stitch, while calling her a whiner, though she was dealing with it better than half of his former partner soldiers on the battlefield.

Ten stitches.

“Okay, I regret my decision,” Anna said at the end, reluctantly sobbing. “Not worth it at all, not for all these stitches...”

It was done. Kurtis did the last stitch and gently wiped her tears. _My brave girl._ Not bad for a teen. He even felt like scolding her.

“Hope you've learned a lesson.” He told. “You shouldn't have faced him. Not for a damn stone. The rule is...”

“... Always protect myself, I know.” Anna sniffled. “But at least I've tricked that motherfu...”

“What are you talking about?” He interrupted. After all, swearing should have its limits.

“He didn't get what he wanted.” Her eyes were closed, but reached out and pointed at a backpack stacked against a drawer. “The Teardrop of Brahma's still there.”


	3. A Paper Ball

It wasn't as easy as it seemed to follow a trail of blood in the jungle. But unfortunately for him, Flynck was bleeding like a pig. Wounded in the leg as he was, that bitch Croft would soon catch him. In fact, it was surprising she hadn't caught him already.

He turned, panting, and surveyed the foliage behind him. Nothing could be heard out of the usual sounds of the jungle.

For a moment, he felt elated. Yes, he'd played his cards right. Those two - Croft and that soldier, whoever he might be - could've caused trouble, but as expected, they had remained with the brat.

With her corpse, if he'd aimed well. But it was hard to say. He'd got goddamned nervous about shooting.

He stood still, sharpening his hearing. Nothing, silence.

Trying to ignore the searing pain of his injured leg, he turned his attention to the shoulder bag and started to open it.

Then a shot rang out and an explosion of pain went through him, from front to back at shoulder height. The impact knocked him down, making him fall on a bed of dead leaves while howling. Consumed by pain, he didn't hear the footsteps crunching on the leaves, but out of the corner of his eye he saw someone coming, so he groped his holster, looking for the gun.

A boot crushed his wrist against the ground, writhing against him, forcing him to drop the weapon, which was kicked away. Almost immediately, that _someone_ immobilized him, resting their knee against his sternum, pinning him to the ground.

Panting, breathless, Flynck had only to look up to recognize Lara Croft.

“Excuse me.” She said, surprisingly sounding very friendly. She leaned over him, looking at him face to face. “I think you forgot this.” And she brandished the stick he'd used to hit the bloody brat.

At that moment he realized how desperate was his situation, lying on middle of a jungle, bleeding from two bullet wounds and that woman over him, looking at him in an absolutely terrifying way, with the remains of camouflage yet smearing her sweaty skin.

He struggled to breathe air, which was difficult considering the explorer's knee and all her weight discharged on his diaphragm.

“You want the Teardrop of Brahma.” He panted weakly. “I'll give it to you. The people who hired me is...”

“I don't care about the people who hired you”. She replied slowly, chewing each word. “And you see, right now I don't _even_ care about the Teardrop of Brahma.”

Then, slowly and deliberately, she put the tip of the branch on the gunshot wound and began to push slowly on it. Flynck stiffened and howled in pain.

“Enough!” He shouted. “Enough! I'll do what you want!”

“But I'm not asking you anything, silly.” Lara smiled, showing a row of perfect white teeth. “Well, actually, I _do_ have a question.”

“Whatever!”

“Does this hurt as much as I imagine?” And she began to dig into the wound with that stick. Flynck's screams tore through the air. “Ah, I thought so.”

“Please, stop! I...” He moaned. “This is just _business!_ I didn't want to hit her, she stood in my way! She left me no choice...”

He let out a sob of relief when the pressure slackened. Then he heard her manipulate his belt and saw that she was removing it.

“What...?”

For a moment, a stupid moment, he thought she was going to make a tourniquet for his leg, seeing her making a kind of loop with the belt. But then she threw it over his neck. He started screaming and resisting, and then she lifted the stick and brought it down with all her strength against his leg wound.

Flynck yelled. He howled. He called her a bitch. And a thousand other things he could think of while she, among his stuttering, dragged him by the neck toward the stump of a tree. He had to crawl at her compass to prevent strangulation with the belt. There she tied him to a thick branch, leaving him half his neck, and a pair of strips torn from her own clothes tied his hands behind his back. The wounds hurt so much and he had lost so much blood that he hardly had been able to resist.

“What are you doing?” He hissed through clenched teeth. He was distraught that she could be so quiet. “Dammit, you fucking slut, if you're gonna kill me do it _now!”_

“I won't kill you.” Lara replied calmly, and after securing the bonds, took several steps back and stared at him with the stick on her hip.

Then he understood. “N-No... no... no, please...”

She stepped back again and picked up the bag off the floor. Then, after a last glance, she threw the stick away from the clearing. She grabbed his gun, examined it, and without more, put it away. But when she opened the nag, she froze when viewing its content. Then she seemed to calm down.

“We could have discussed this in another way.” She said absently, not losing the serenity in her voice at any moment. “You wanted the artifact from the beginning, but you waited for me to get it out of the ruins. Not that I would've given it to you anyway, of course, but at least you would've messed with someone your own size.” Then she leered. “Now you're bleeding from two gunshot wounds in a jungle full of bugs and vermin. All for _this_.” She tutted, and turning over the bag, she emptied it on the ground. “So unlucky you were today, indeed.”

The furtive raider froze when seeing a huge stone falling from the bag and rolling on the floor.

It wasn't the Teardrop of Brahma. Just a rock, an ordinary rock.

“But, but...”

“Congratulations.” Lara said, smiling sarcastically. “A fourteen-year-old girl has tricked you.”

She threw the bag aside and walked away from him.

“Where are you going? Don't leave me here!” Flynck writhed, but it all hurt. _“Croft!_ Curse you! I'll do whatever you want!”

“For real?” She turned, still smiling, sensual and charmingly.

_“_ _Whatever!”_

“Well, then... just die.” She turned again. “Slowly and painfully, if possible.”

And she left.

The howls of her enemy, who insulted her and cried out to kill him, chased her a long time, but did nothing but stoke her hatred. Soon, however, once she noticed the adrenaline in her bloodstream, she experienced a decline. She leaned back, panting, on a tree, and breathed several times to regain her composure.

Then she ran.

 

* * *

 

The next bomb fell nearby. Too close. The explosion was heard just a few kilometers away. They were almost there.

_For God's sake, Lara._

Why did she have to go? Why was she so goddammit stubborn? It seemed she enjoyed complicating things.

After checking the perimeter for the third time, Kurtis went back to Anna, who was still lying on the bed with the bag containing the Teardrop of Brahma under her arm, and groping something in her pocket. A paper ball. He caught it before it fell.

“What's this?” He asked and arranged it to observe the drawing.

“I wanted to show it to you. I suck at drawing, totally.”

It was funny she was worried about _that_ in such a moment. He looked at the picture for a few seconds, then folded it and stuffed it back into her pocket.

“You fail at the same thing every time, and it's because you don’t catch its shape appropriately.”

“I looked at it so much I got bored!”

“That's the thing. You're tired of looking at it.” He pulled the amber stone from the bag and put it in her hands. “Touch it. Turn it in your hands. Until you know it by heart, without looking at it.”

Another explosion sounded, this time closer. Anna didn't seem to care. She'd closed her eyes and turned the artifact meticulously in her hands.

“We gotta go. _Now_.” Kurtis said, and bent over her, examining her. She didn't seem to be worse. “How’re you doin'?”

“We ain't leaving without Mom, right?” She replied quickly.

He didn't answer. She didn't insist. She knew she shouldn't.

“You're not OK to walk right now, so I'll take you to the helicopter.” He put again his arms under her back and legs. “Ready? One, two, three!”

When he lifted her up, Anna felt as if the world began to spin around and closed her eyes tightly. Vomit rose up her throat again, but this time she swallowed. _Yuck, yuck._

“Your sacrifice is appreciated.” She heard her father's joking voice in her ear. “Once was enough.”

Her head was pumping in waves of pain, but it was easier if she buried her face against his shoulder and stood motionless.

“Anna...”

“Oh, yes. Do the talking.” She murmured, her voice muffled by his camouflage clothing. “Let's see: name's Anna and my head's gonna explode. My head's gonna explode and name's Anna. Name's Anna and I suck at drawing. I suck at drawing and name's Anna...”

With his daughter in his arms he couldn't move very fast, and certainly not if he wanted to avoid her getting worse. He left the clearing and went into the jungle. Luckily he could follow easily the previous path opened when he'd arrived there.

“If we leave, how are we gonna find Mom?”

Silence.

“We've left behind a lot of our stuff...” She complained.

“I gotta get you outta here. Everything else is irrelevant.”

_Mom too?_ But she didn't say it. She didn't want to hear _no_ answer.

He stopped a few times to strengthen Anna on his arms. Now he was sweating profusely.

“How you've grown.” He grunted with effort.

“Ha ha. Very funny.”

“What's funny?”

“You called me fat.”

“I didn't.”

“Yes you did.”

“Okay: you’ve grow fat. Now I did.”

His daughter gave him a kick in the thigh, but it felt very weak.

Another explosion sounded in the distance. Indeed, as he approached the helicopter, he noticed their problems were just beginning. A solitary Legion helicopter flying amid a war zone was a perfect target. He didn't know if the rebels had anti-aircraft missiles, but it was foolish not to count on it. It had been madness to go there. And it would be worse to get out. But if they stayed, Anna could worsen. And if she lost consciousness, she could die.

Kurtis realized he'd slowed his pace. He lied to himself thinking it was to prevent his daughter’s battered head from worsening from the shaking movement. Actually, it was to buy some time for Lara. At every step, the sensation increased. That urgent need to come back for her, to stay and wait for her, and at the same time, the absolute urgency to leave before it was too late for Anna.

He hated that sensation. He hated it with all his strength.

“Don't worry.” He heard Anna muttering again, her head resting on his shoulder. “She knows how to take care of herself.”

“I know.” He answered. _That's why you've got priority._

He hated having to choose between Lara and his daughter. He _really_ hated it. But he had no choice.

And besides, what was it for Lara Croft to deal with a hostile and rugged area surrounded by a newly-erupted warzone? They both knew she'd dealt with much worse situations.

_C'mon, M'lady. Impress me._

 

* * *

 

Lara arrived panting and almost exhausted to the camp. Seeing it empty and silent wasn't a great surprise for her. With a quick glance she identified the remains of the kit, the bloodstained gauze and fabric, needle and thread scraps. They weren't there, and after quickly examining prominent protuberances, she found that neither was the Teardrop of Brahma.

He'd practiced first aid on Anna and had taken her out of there. _Well done, Kurtis._

She could imagine how hard would've been for that overprotective fool to leave without her. But if he'd done so, it was because Anna's situation must be serious. But she was alive at least. Otherwise anything else wouldn’t have made sense.

Lara leaned on the table, sweating, and took a deep breath several times. She ran her hand across her forehead to wipe sweat, smearing even more of the makeup across her face, and thought quickly. She needed to leave almost everything except weapons, which of course she'd take. She collected them at full speed, trying to ignore the painful twinges all over her body.

She could try to reach the archaeological center on foot. That would take a couple of days. With a little luck, and if the rebels hadn't gotten there, the British explorer could use one of the jeeps to drive north, towards the sea. That wouldn't help to leave the island, but she remembered there was a hospital and a support center with links abroad. Communication would be cut, but at least she wouldn't be lost in the jungle.

Lara hoped wholeheartedly that Kurtis had gone there with Anna. Suddenly she shuddered, thinking how vulnerable a helicopter was flying alone in the midst of chaos. Of course, it was a gunship helicopter. And as far as she knew, he was a fighter pilot. A very good fighter pilot.

_C'mon, Kurtis. Impress me._

She mustn't worry about them. She was alone, which meant she would have to fight her way out.

She smiled. Just like old times.

Without losing her smile, the British explorer rushed back into the jungle.


	4. Triage

It was just a tiny hospital, used for the daily needs of that paradisiacal tourist area and not much more. And it was totally overwhelmed: pandemonium, a real mess. For days, massive groups of wounded and hungry people had arrived, fleeing war and crowded around by the hundreds both inside and out. Some arrived with terrible wounds, infections, mutilations. Frequently rape victims would show or bring an injured child in their arms. Within hours, the capacity of the tiny center supersaturated, the staff couldn't cope with all the work, and food and medicines ran out. Everyone panicked. The hospital staff wanted to call for help, but communications were cut, so they could only rely on the arrival of people from abroad, journalists, soldiers, watchers, but the days passed and nothing happened. Even the Legion had left the island.

On the fourth day they realized it was impossible to treat all the sick and wounded, so they began to separate those worth trying to save and those whose wounds were too serious or required a treatment way over the circumstances. On the left, life. On the right, death.

If only they could give them morphine, at least. But not a single dose was left.

In the middle of that living hell, there was a nurse who went back and forth between the cots or makeshift beds for the incurable and wounded people, trying to get some help with curing from any person able to stand on their feet. She'd managed to recruit some women and elders willing to help, also some children who weren't so terrified they couldn’t move. Every pair of hands was essential.

Then, as she walked past an area of newly arrived people, she noticed the soldier carrying a wounded girl. Both were Western, judging by their pale skin.

That caught her attention. There were no soldiers there, everything would've been much better with them. Then she realized he wore a camouflage suit and looked exhausted, but remained calm amid the mass of screaming and whimpering people. He even looked around occasionally, irritated as if this living drama annoyed him more than anything else.

Sure, a military man... but what about the girl? Overcome by curiosity, she approached them.

“What happened to the little girl?”

The aforementioned slightly raised her head and looked at her. She'd brown hair caked with dried blood and a thick patch on the right side of her forehead.

_“Little girl?”_ She protested, glaring at her with beautiful blue eyes. Well, no doubt she was his daughter. “I am fourteen!”

“A blow to the head.” Quickly answered the soldier, who, by the way, was really gorgeous. However, he kept looking around. Was he looking for someone?

The nurse gently took off the patch from the girl's wound and raised her eyebrows.

“You know how to stitch wounds far better than many of my colleagues.”

“I was hoping you could scan her or something.” He said, ignoring the compliment. “But I see this is a mess.”  He looked around once more. “Any place where she can rest?”

As a rule, she would've sent her to the left side, to life, to the mass of the whimpering with nothing serious enough to not to survive that night. A meager hole in the grass of the esplanade, amid a thousand more of wounded and sick. But she liked that soldier, and so the girl, who suddenly looked very serious while staring at that mass of injured people wriggling around.

“Follow me.” She said, and led them into the hospital.

 

* * *

 

The smell inside was unbearable, even worse than outside. The vision of the floor splattered with blood and filth, used bandages, pieces of clothing and flesh, chamber pots filled with blood and worse, people huddled in corners, the living over the dead, the dead next to the dying. The most one could do was to pass between them trying not to step on anything or anyone, which was impossible most of the time.

Anna closed her eyes and buried her face in her father's chest. His body smell, sweat plus gunpowder, plus leather and fuel was like perfume compared with that stench. It was comforting. That, and the quiet heartbeat, despite his fatigue, despite the effort of carrying her.

As long as he was calm, everything would be fine. Wouldn't it?

“I need to talk to someone with authority.” Kurtis demanded more than asked. “A military officer, a diplomat, the goddamn embassy, whatever. Or, use the radio or any source of communication.”

“Communications are cut, but two days ago a senior military officer arrived, shot in the leg.” She said. “I recall he's waiting for someone to pick him up, but with this chaos...”

“Where is he?” He interrupted, with little desire to chat. “I gotta talk to him. _Now.”_

“They put him somewhere on the third floor... the girl can stay there too. I'll call a colleague to examine her.”

When turning a corner, Anna opened one eye, just to see, on a stretcher a few meters from them, a person wriggling as two doctors held him and a third stood holding a small saw.

She closed her eyes and squeezed them hard. But there was no way to close her hearing to the contorted scream that chased her.

 

* * *

 

She'd been dreading that.

Quietly, Lara looked around the archeology center, noticing one by one the bodies. Long ago, she would've still shuddered at the realization of those archaeologists and scientists being alive a few hours before, she having talked to them just days before, and they promising to return to pick Anna and herself up when called by radio.

And there they were. Dead. Additionally, the women had been raped, but she didn't take a second look at their bodies. There was nothing she could do for them.

Of course, the jeep had disappeared, probably stolen by the paramilitaries who had made the carnage. She would have to keep going on foot, being even more delayed. Besides, she was exhausted.

She heard another explosion in the distance. They were close, and although they had already been there, nobody would think they couldn't return, even for plundering over the already ransacked. And she had no intention of staying any longer.

Upon leaving the center, she noticed the bicycle lying next to a door. After a moment of hesitation, she approached and lifted it. It was old and battered, but could be used.

A bicycle through the jungle?

Lara scanned the road to the north, not asphalted, but clear.

“Whatever.” She muttered. At least it was quieter than any other vehicle.

Kurtis would laugh his ass off when knowing she'd crossed the jungle on a bloody bike. She almost regretted having chased Flynck.

Almost.

 

* * *

 

For a time, Kendrick swung between consciousness and unconsciousness. Then everything was clearing. The distant shouts racing down the hall, the smell of blood and other unmentionable things.

Yeah, he was at the hospital. And yeah, his superiors were already late to get him out of there.

He sat heavily on the bed and looked back at his bloodied and badly bandaged leg. A swarm of flies had settled on the dirty bandage, soaked for hours with blood and pus. He shooed them with a weak hand gesture. The stench his leg was giving off was disgusting, even worse than the actual smell of the hospital, of people rotting and dying in every corner.

He was rotting to death too. He knew it.

“I'm gonna spit on your grave, Trent.” He muttered. “I'm gonna spit on each and every inch of your grave.”

He tried to relocate his body, get more comfortable, but a lash of pain rose from his shattered calf to the hip. He collapsed on his back, releasing a bunch of blasphemies and curses.

Why the hell did he give away that precious helicopter. Why.

“Heeeyyyy!!!” He howled in grief, turning his head toward the hallway. “Is there anyone still alive to assist me, or you're all passing the buck??”

Then he saw a glimpse of that nurse... Kendrick didn't know her name, nor cared. He opened his mouth to admonish her - how dare she to leave him in his condition? - but suddenly remained like that, open-mouthed, when he saw behind her the man whose grave he meant to sully.

_“Trent!”_ The colonel broke. “You ...!”

But he neither finished the sentence when seeing the girl he carried in his arms and who, after looking at his leg for a moment, turned her head and covered her mouth and nose with both hands.

“Put her down here.” Said the nurse, oblivious to his commotion, pointing to an empty cot next to the window. Then she stared listlessly at how that attractive soldier deposited the girl carefully, as if she were made of crystal and could break at any time. Suddenly she seemed to wake from her dream. “I'm gonna search for a doctor, will be back soon.” And hurriedly disappeared behind the door frame.

“Then it's true.” Kendrick finally managed to mumble. “Your daughter?”

“Yes, and no time to lose.” He said, frowning and turning to him for the first time. “What are you doing here, Matt? You should've been evacuated.”

The colonel tilted his head and let out a sarcastic snort. “Yeah, that was my intention, but everything screwed up at the last moment. I was gonna escape in a helicopter, but I gave it to a bastard to go into the jungle. At least you've not wasted your chance.” He looked askance at Anna. “What's with your nose, girl? Are you bleeding?”

“Nope.” She replied, her voice muffled behind her hands. “It's your leg, it stinks.”

Kendrick looked at her for a moment, stunned, and then laughed. “We'll see what you smell like in a few days! Hey, what are you doing?” He protested suddenly. Kurtis was raising a bandage off his calf. “Get off me!”

The flesh around the gunshot was black, and not by clotted blood, precisely.

“You lost the leg, Matt.”

“Now you're a doctor? Shut the fuck up. This is all your fault. I shouldn't have given the fucking helicopt...”

“You gotta send a distress signal. Radio.” Kurtis cut off again. “You're a big shot now. They'll come for you.”

“I've already done it, before communications were shut down. But nobody has come yet.” He closed his eyes, sore and exhausted. “And guess now you wanna come with me and save your ass. Again.”

“It's me who saved you ass, remember?” The ex-Legionnaire muttered. “And be polite, I still have that _precious_ helicopter out there.”

He whispered the last words, but the wounded commander got up as if driven by a spring.

“Then we're done here! We can get outta this damn hole!” He grunted. The leg was throbbing in pain again. “There must be enough fuel to reach the continent...”

“Not gonna anywhere without her mother.” Kurtis made a quick nod towards her daughter. “She's still in the jungle.”

Kendrick wanted to protest, to say there was less chance for that woman to survive in the rebel zone than them being rescued by a legion of angels, but he bit his tongue. He glanced at the girl, who was still lying, breathing heavily, her hands still on her face and without losing sight of his doomed leg, again covered with flies.

“They... will arrive soon.” The colonel sputtered at last. “Just... get the girl outta here.”

Kurtis shook his head, without looking at Anna, who suddenly had turned her alarmed gaze toward him. “Gotta ask you another favor, Matt.”

“Don't even think to ask me to do babysitt...”

_“I'm not a baby!”_ Anna jumped, removing the hands from her face for a moment, then she retched and covered herself again.

“Only if I don't return.” Kurtis lowered his voice and leaned towards his former partner. He didn't seem to mind the rotten wound smell. “You owe me this, Matt.”

The colonel twisted his face. “Thanks to you, Trent, I'm so fucke..”

“They'll come for you. And if not, there's the goddamn helicopter.” Kurtis made a gesture toward the window. “It's close, hidden in the jungle.”

“I won't get out. Not with this...”

“Get your leg cut. You've already lost it anyway. Grab a pair of crutches, get outta here and take her with you.” He turned away.

Anna was now watching them with an outraged face. Obviously, she wasn't pleased with the arrangement. “You're gonna leave me here.” She muttered, pulling down her hands again, sounding offended.

Kurtis went to her and leaned down until level with her eyes. “I gotta find her.” he said flatly, not violently, but without admitting reply. “I'm not forsaking her in the jungle. You're safe here. Wait till we get back, and if we don't, you're leaving with him.” Said nodding toward the wounded colonel, who looked at them with utter frustration. “At worst, I'll see you on the continent. Deal?”

Anna clenched her jaw and stared at him for a moment. “Deal.” She said at last, sounding more sure than she actually felt.

Then, in a quick gesture, Kurtis put his arm around her and kissed her on the forehead. When sitting up he noticed his former partner looking at him open-mouthed. Yes, it must be a sight, the tough Trent doing that. More shocking than the real reason he wasn’t allowed to stay in the Legion. Still, there was no time for that. He held his gaze.

“Don't wanna be an ass but...” The colonel sputtered, “If she's in the jungle, among the rebels...”

“They better watch their back.”

Kendrick snorted. “That woman’s gotta be Rambo for...”

Anna laughed gently, despite her head bursting with pain. “My mother would eat Rambo and spit out his bones”.

Kurtis kept staring at him. “Matt?”

“Okay, okay.” The wounded Legionnaire sighed. “If you don't return, I get her outta here.” _Someone has to tell the squad how soft you got_. “Good luck with whatever you try to do.”

Kurtis nodded quickly, casting a last glance at his daughter, who had turned her head toward the window, obviously upset, and left quickly without a word. When crossing the hall he met the nurse, who came with a doctor and smiled candidly at him as she rubbed his arm and whispered something reassuring. He paid no attention. It was better to avoid bad memories which could turn that stranger's face into someone familiar, a vague memory of golden eyes and flaming red hair.

Meanwhile, Kendrick had even forgotten the flies feeding on his leg. Turning to his new roommate, he said: “Well, as we're staying here for a while... tell me, pretty... who's your mother?”

 

* * *

 

“Bloody hell.” Lara muttered, chewing every word. She got off the useless bike, threw it aside, burying it under a mass of bushes, and went off the road, hiding herself well.

She was trapped.

It had been several hours cycling through the jungle with the rebels unknowingly on her heels, which was itself a feat worthy of being told if it didn’t sound so utterly ridiculous. Every time she could heard the gunfire closer. At one point, she'd even heard a gunship helicopter flying over the area and shooting where they were. That could only mean one thing.

_Kurtis._

If he'd fired in self-defense or just to hinder the rebels and buy her some time, she didn't know. Rather the latter, or that was what she wanted to believe, since the other option was unpleasant to consider. More than the fact that she was now trapped, since there were also rebels ahead. She could already hear them: the hubbub, the shouting, the shooting. Rebels ahead of her. Rebels behind. She was surrounded.

“Bloody hell.” She repeated.

She could climb one of those huge trees and wait for them to leave, she could even jump from one to another like a monkey. But she had to be realistic: they moved through the jungle with a familiarity she had taken years to acquire, adventure after adventure. They surely had no intention of going anywhere. They were taking the island, soon all of it will be under their control: jungle, cities, hospitals, weapons, the whole population. With both communications and airspace cut off, Sri Lanka would be isolated, abandoned to its fate. At least, that was what happened with any country in conflict irrelevant to UN and world powers, and this time it wouldn't be different.

And now she was trapped there. How long could she survive in the jungle? Weeks, months? They would end up finding her. And fight? It was her against... how many of them? Impossible to know.

Tired, hungry and with twinges of pain coursing up and down her body, not for a moment Lara regretted having chased and punished that wretched Flynck. She imagined him tied there, dying slowly, eaten by bugs.

No, she didn't regret it at all.

Now Lara must stay alive and try to get to the hospital at all costs. Kurtis and Anna would be there, for sure. Waiting for her. And that worried her. That overprotective fool was likely to wait for her... against any logic, or even to have some silly idea like coming back for her.

That must _not_ happen.

She began to move slowly, slipping crouched under the clump of leaves. Each time they were closer. The gunfire had stopped, but she could hear them in the distance, moving, shouting at each other in Tamil language, which she understood crudely.

Lara was still armed to the teeth not wanting to get rid of their weapons: shotgun, assault rifle, her beloved dual pistols, though after hours of crossing the jungle, their weight was becoming unbearable. Not that she complained about it: in a way, she was used to them. Crawling squatted with all that weight on top was worse, of course.

The cries became clearer, closer, and suddenly, she saw them, there before her. Those rebels knew about camouflaging, she had to give them that. They were dressed in green and brown, like her, face and hands covered with mud. That reminded her sweating had taken much of her own camouflage. Still advancing, she thrust her hands into the clay soil and began to spread handfuls of mud on her face, arms, chest and neck; also her bare belly and back. Too bad she couldn't go invisible.

The British explorer saw two of them slowly approaching. Looked like they were done for the day: more relaxed, lowered rifles as their instincts. They chatted animatedly among themselves, so it seemed they had had a good day, almost looking like two good friends who were relaxing after a hard day's work.

But Lara wasn't fooled. She'd long grown used to not looking at her targets, like she wasted no time in looking at her victim's corpses, just for register. A feature of humanity, a slight touch of empathy, and she would be lost. She would risk thinking of those _beings_ as actual people, with their dreams, their hopes and their loved ones, and be sidetracked for a moment from the stark reality: to kill or be killed. It was them or her.

They were already before her, so she eased her breathing, until holding her breath. One of them broke away, still commenting something in that rare language, and instantly turned to his companion, with his back toward Lara.

Perfect.

 

* * *

 

Anna was visibly getting worse, despite the doctor who examined her confirmed that the wound was fine, as fine as could be expected. They didn't even touch the mending made by Kurtis. Not that they had time for that, provided the situation.

Unable to perform on her the compulsory medical tests - the power was cut, machines didn't work - they simply pat her on the shoulder and left her where she was. Considering the people who were on the floor, the smell of blood and other unspeakable things and all those screams and moans all over the place, she could consider herself lucky, just because, apparently, that nurse liked her. But that didn't stop the throbbing pain in her skull. Soon, her pupils dilated and her vision began to blur.

“Oh, gimme a break.” Anna complained, her voice thick and clumsy, when feeling again that woman's hands over her face, turning her head and looking into her eyes.

She already didn't feel like joking or distracting her. “You okay, honey?”

Anna didn't seem to hear her. She kept staring at the ceiling with a puzzled expression, her eyes bulging. Then she passed out.

 

* * *

 

His eyes widened when he saw coming out from the foliage a tall, slender figure moving at an incredible speed. In just a few seconds, she attacked his partner from behind, grabbed his head and, with a sharp twist, broke his neck. His body collapsed like a sack and revealed a well camouflaged woman, armed to the teeth.

The rebel raised his rifle and aimed at her, but she'd already jumped toward him. He spent the last moments of his life watching, stunned, how she pushed the rifle's barrel away with a hand and then felt a sharp pang on his neck. He dropped the rifle and raised his hands to the throat, trying to catch the handle of the knife sinking in his carotid, but then she sharply pulled the blade to the side and slit his throat. He fell at his feet, drowning in his own blood, as he looked, stunned and bewildered, at her brown eyes, all that could be distinguished in her daubed face.

Lara crouched again among the foliage and pulled the knife from her target, without even waiting for him to die. Soon his death throes were over. She wanted to disarm him – they had good equipment despite being mere rebels -  but suddenly got a better idea. She grabbed the corpse by the arms, dragged him -good Lord, he was heavy- and dropped him over his partner, hiding them well under the foliage, though making it seem casual, unintentional. If all went as planned, at least their companions wouldn't notice them with the naked eye, and at most, would look like they had killed each other.

She was still backing to ensure they were well placed when suddenly, she felt a cold, hard barrel against her neck. She turned, flustered, to discover another rebel pointing at her with his rifle, and before she could wonder how on earth he'd come up behind her without making any kind of noise, she felt a brutal impact on her face and everything went black.


	5. The Bamboo Cage

A bucket of water on her face awakened her. She coughed and spat. Almost instantly, a brutal hand grabbed her hair and yanked her up, making her stand on her feet. She couldn't help the cry of pain that escaped. The world spun around her and she would've vomited if not being used to standing firm and balanced when everything else wasn't. Just a second later, that hand abruptly sat her in a chair and let her go. Then she could open her eyes and look around.

At first she struggled to focus her sight, for everything was dark except for a rusty old lamp flashing on a table beside her. Then things were taking shape, but the panorama was really unflattering.

She was sitting in the middle of a sort of cabin made of wood and bamboo without a floor, this being instead the dirt of the jungle. It had been previously swept, though not very well. Her hands were tied behind her back and her ankles were also tied with a kind of flexible tape, nail-biting in their tightness that they cut her blood circulation. Judging by the feeling of numbness in her hands and feet, it had been a while since she was tied with that.

Then she realized they had completely disarmed her - not that she'd expected otherwise. No weapons, her backpack, belt and holsters gone, and worse, her clothes were untidy, and so her underwear.

Of course, she'd been thoroughly checked. _Gross_.

By this stage, she should've learned to avoid those kinds of situations. But there she was again, stuck in a mess.

She heard a sharp command in Tamil language and a second bucket of viscous dirt-flavored water fell over her face and chest. She spat that crap again.

“That's enough!” She protested. “I'm already clean!”

A male voice laughed in the dark. Whoever he was, he understood English and, of course, had got the sarcasm. The trails of muddy water running down her body made her look everything but clean.

Now that she could see better, she saw three men, three guerrilla soldiers in the tiny cabin. One stood by the door, gun in hand, looking straight ahead, as if that had nothing to do with him. The other was still holding the bucket, which he dropped on the floor without further ado. And then she saw the third sitting a couple of meters in front of her, in another chair, barely distinguishable. He twirled an object in his hand. It was her passport.

“Miss Croft.” He muttered. He opened the passport, glanced at her photo, as if to reassure himself, and closed it again. “Yes, you.”

His English was tremendously flawed and heavily accented. Lara frowned and leaned forward to try to better distinguish him, but then, the one who'd held the bucket stepped forward, grabbed her shoulder and shoved her brutally back, forcing her to rest on the chair back. Then, without further ado, he twisted the lamp to aim the light directly into her face. Lara blinked and turned her face away, annoyed.

_So you're the bad cop here, huh?_

Again she heard the voice of him that sat before her.

“Miss Croft.” She saw him pulling something from his pocket, and then a couple of frictions. A tiny flame kindled in the dark. It was a lighter. “You very famous, yes? Not smart. Now you in our hands.”

She saw him bring the flame to the passport and began to burn it slowly, setting fire to one end. Lara didn't react visibly, though she felt annoyed. It was amazing how complicated things went if you lost your passport in a hostile and alien country, she could tell very well. Just getting a new one or proving she was who she claimed to be meant endless hours of paperwork and boring conversations.

“Done.” Said the wretch, dropping the passport in a bowl that was on the table next to the lamp, with something covered with a cloth. The document ended up burning slowly, twisting and blackening, until reduced to ashes. The smell of burnt plastic and cardboard spread throughout the cabin. “Now you no one.”

If that idiot meant to piss her off, he'd succeeded. But she didn't show her anger. She kept staring at him, looking absolutely calm.

The other leaned toward her again. She could see him better now, but his face didn't ring a bell to her. None of them did. They were all the same, like clones, all three dressed as soldiers, all three with a dirty face.

“You kill two of us.” He said then, the one who questioned her.

“They were in my way.” She replied quietly.

The other blinked and stared at her, who realized she'd spoken too quickly for him to understand. Lara smiled wryly.

 _“They. Be. In. My. Way.”_ She intentionally mouthed, as if talking to an idiot. “They annoy me, I kill them. I alive, they dead. _End.”_

That guy might not know much English, but certainly got the joke. His face contracted in a grimace of anger, but it was the other again who stepped forward again and punched her in the face, knocking her to the ground.

Judging by the outbreak of pain, it was there, on the right cheekbone, where she'd been beaten to knock her out. Not even giving her time to catch her breath, that beast pulled her up by the hair and brutally sat her in the chair again, as if she was a rag doll.

“You funny.” Her questioner said. “Very funny. Soon you want be dead.”

Lara seriously doubted that, but she didn't reply. She stared at him in silence. Then he leaned back to her.

“Where stone of the god?”

 _The Teardrop of Brahma_. Of course. That was why she was still alive. The reason they had searched her so rudely. What would those brutes want an ancient artefact for, if not for selling to finance themselves?

It was useless to pretend not to know what he was talking about. They had searched her backpack, with maps, photographs of the artefact, even some sketches by Anna. Everyone there knew what the "stone of the god" was... and they knew that she knew, too.

She shrugged slightly in reply, as if bored, and prepared herself for another punch. However, the bully, after exchanging a meaningful glance with his partner, turned, stepped behind the table and, with a jerk, lifted the dirty cloth that seemed to cover something.

_Oh, c'mon. You gotta be kidding me._

He wasn't. There were a series of metal instruments on the table, a torturer’s paraphernalia worthy of a snuff movie: pliers, awls, small rakes and other grotesque things. And worse, they were stained with dried blood and had traces of skin, flesh and hair still attached.

Lara couldn't help shuddering. The very idea of having her body rummaged with that crap made her retch. The talkative one, however, understood her reaction as fear instead of disgust, so he smugly smiled.

“This not necessary if you help.” He said calmly. “We want stone of the god. If you not help, we use parts of you and remove after.” And his gaze slid, rude and meaningful, from her lips to her breasts and finally stopped between her thighs.

It was enough.

“Let's see, Good Cop.” Lara said, not bothering to speak slowly. “May I call you Good Cop? Our friend here will be Bad Cop.” She looked at the thug who'd beaten her. “And that one from there can be Idiot At The Door. You already searched me and as you know, I have no Teardrop of Brahma, which is the name of the thing you want to steal and sell to finance your trashy rebellion. You've two options: to waste your time _using and removing_ parts of me as your colleagues take over the island and you're late to the division of the spoils; or let me go so I can get you the Tear, but for that I need my equipment back and, of course, a safe transport off this bloody island, since you've burned my passport.”

Bad Cop attended to her monologue with puzzled expression, so he might not understand much of what she'd said. But it appeared Good Cop’s comprehension was as good as his speaking was bad, since he glanced furiously at her and suddenly barked an order in their native language.

Then the Bad Cop again grabbed her hair - he really enjoyed doing that - lifted her, and led her outside the hut, half dragging her. Lara yelled again in pain and rage, falling face down on the floor, but the thug pulled her up and kept dragging her through the mud. The sunlight hurt her eyes and she clenched them, but when hearing voices around she noticed she was in a guerrilla camp and all of them were watching the scene: a group of rebels at rest, some talking, others cleaning their weapons, others simply standing about smoking and hanging out. Some turned their faces towards the show and laughed, pointing at her.

Very funny indeed.

Lara didn't try to fight her opponent. She could do nothing being shackled, but also the pain of the bonds, of the strap and her twisted hair, was paralyzing.

In the end, he took her to a slightly secluded area of the camp, full of cages and stakes within a fence, all made with wood and bamboo from the jungle. She took a moment to realize it was a kind of prison camp. There were people tied to stakes and stuffed into cages, both men and women, in different states of health but not good ones in any case, judging by their injuries. All fellow citizens. She was the only Westerner.

Mumbling a few words to the guards at the fence, Bad Cop got the door opened and dragged her inside, while Lara was trying to stand to soothe the pain in her scalp, in vain. She'd no choice but to resign to be tucked into one of those bamboo cages, one that was too small, but still, that man stuffed her in there kicking her and closed the door behind her.

Immobilized, sore and crouching in the tiny cage, Lara realized that the punishment for her sassiness had just begun.

 

* * *

 

The honorable Colonel Matthew Kendrick had gone through unpleasant situations throughout his life, some truly horrendous, such as when he was about to die in Kabul at the Taliban's hands. He was convinced that all those experiences had hardened and improved him, preparing him to confront and overcome any challenge. All his medals and honors proved that, right?

It turned out that _nothing_ had prepared him to face the amputation of a limb without anesthesia and involving practically his whole left leg.

After fleeing in a Jeep from the Legion base toward the north, being shot by rebels and getting a bullet in the knee, he'd practically crawled to that hospital. He lost a lot of blood, collapsing in pain on the entrance stairs, and thought his streak of bad luck was over. He'd called his superiors and colleagues for aid. After all, a shot in the leg was nothing, he'd been through worse.

But now his leg was black, swollen, oozing pus and stinking something awful. Gangrene. There was no way out, and so expressed that happy little nurse, truly remorseful.

That bastard Trent had been right for a change: his leg was lost.

And all his medals didn't help him when the three doctors appeared beside the little nurse with a dirty trolley with hospital material which included, of course, a saw.

He _wasn't_ going to fall apart. He _wouldn't_ , let alone in front of those civilians.

“Instead of fucking with me,” muttered Kendrick, sharply nodding to his left, “take care of the girl. She looks awful.”

Worst of all is that he meant more to draw attention away from himself than because he thought they could do something for the poor kid, who indeed looked terrible. She lay there unconscious, her eyes half open and blank, pale as death and covered in sweat, her lips moving spasmodically without saying anything in particular. She'd been in that situation for more than an hour.

“I'm terribly sorry, but we can't do anything more for now.” Said the nurse. “Now we've to take care of you, Colonel, before you lose more than a leg.”

Kendrick started to protest, but when those three assholes pounced on him, he insulted and hit them. That didn't make a difference. Those war physicians, volunteers from other parts of the island, had also fought their own battles, and were little impressed by the threats and curses of a military man, not even one as tough as Colonel Kendrick. They had a hard time trying to restrain and hold him, despite the blackened leg and the excruciating pain. Three men against one.

“Hold on, Colonel.” Said one of them as he put a rag in his mouth, ignoring his insults and attempts to bite him. “We'll do this as quickly as possible.”

When the nurse lifted the saw, he knew he was lost. Courage suddenly abandoned him, and so all learning experiences in his brilliant military career. For a moment, all he could do was mentally ask for help, but didn't know whom.

Then that little nurse with a childish face decisively sank the saw in his flesh, two feet above the knee.

 

* * *

 

Tucked in that tiny cage, Lara began to suffer for real.

Not that Bad Cop had miscalculated the size of her prison, or Good Cop was mistaken in giving him precise orders. There was no mistake. The cage was intentionally too small, an instrument of torture itself, the first stage of a long process to break her.

Writhing, she'd tried to find, again and again, a position in which the growing pain of her compressed body were a bit bearable. She didn't succeed. Even in a fetal position she still had her head and legs pressed against the bars of bamboo and could neither shrink or stretch, or take arms and legs through the bars, tied as she was.

Within hours, the painful tingling in her joints, particularly the knees, back and neck, become intermittent pangs, and later, the pangs turned into a pulsating pain poured like liquid fire up and down her arms, legs, back and neck. Finally, the pain became unbearable.

However, if those amused guerrillas watching her from the fence, or when coming and going carrying prisoners expected to see her screaming or sobbing, they were disappointed. Lara would rather have her face buried in the mud covering the rough floor of the cage than let them see her grimace in pain. At the end of the day, it was quite humiliating enough to be caged like a rat.

Then, the hunger and thirst, especially the thirst, which became devastating in the passing hours. By day, she almost suffocated there, with the heat, the humidity, the mosquitoes enticed to her and which she couldn't repel, and the impossibility to go to the bathroom - if there was such a thing in that place. At dusk, sweat cooled her skin and she began to shiver.

She didn't regret having gone after Flynck, not once. Regretting what she'd done, having chased that bastard instead of staying with Kurtis and Anna, meant admitting she'd been wrong, and that would mean the beginning of the end. Dwelling on that kind of thinking would only weaken her, doing a favor to her captors.

 

* * *

 

At dawn, Bad Cop came again for her. This time she made no attempt to defend herself, she didn't even protest when he grabbed her hair again. Must be his kink. In addition, the pain in her yanked scalp was ridiculous compared to the lash of fire that ran up and down her as her body, compressed for hours in the cage, was deployed again. She couldn't even stand up, so two guerrillas seized her armpits and dragged her toward the cabin.

At that moment she saw another prisoner, a young girl, dressed in guerrilla outfit, being dragged out from the cabin... but she'd her clothes open and in disarray, and they certainly had practiced on her that method of "using and removing parts". Lara looked away.

She would have to play her cards very, _very_ wisely.

“Miss Croft.” Good Cop said when she was in front of him again, sitting in that chair now splattered with blood, as well as the floor and all around, except for him. It was the other, Bad Cop, who was in charge of the dirty work, judging by the status of his clothing. “Hope today you more kind, after time to think. I want...”

“... stone of the god, yes.” Lara cut off. She leaned forward. “Don't have it, but I know where it is. Let me go and you'll have it. You see, inside a cage there's not much I can do. I've resources, but not to that point.”

She expected Bad Cop pushing her back, hitting her again, but he was attentive to the reaction of his partner, who nodded and then exchanged a meaningful glance with him. Before she'd time to worry, the bully disappeared behind her, while Good Cop spat out one word: “Liar.”

Bad Cop appeared again in her field of vision. He carried something large and heavy in his hand. _Here we go_ , thought Lara.

“Liar.” Her interrogator repeated. “Your friend say many things when we ask. Tells us you have stone of the god. Tells you give to child. Daughter, yes? So daughter have stone of the god. Your friend speaks lot, yes, when we ask.” And showed a cruel smile.

From the beginning of his clumsy but sinister speech, Lara felt her stomach wringing and the sweat freezing on her skin. She clenched her jaw and kept staring at the other, who gestured to his companion: “We show friend, you believe us.”

Bad Cop stepped forward and dropped something on her lap. Lara gasped involuntarily. It was a sack of coarse cloth, splattered with blood, containing something hard, heavy, the size of a soccer ball.

Her heart soared. Her vision blurred. _No. No. No. No, please_ , begged her fevered mind in a maelstrom she couldn't control. It couldn't be. It couldn't be.

Aware of her perturbation, her interrogator gave an order to Bad Cop, who opened the bag, took out the severed head and held it up to her eyes, so she could see it well.

For a moment her heart skipped a beat. Indeed, the man had dark, thick hair. But then she recognized him, despite he was unrecognizable. Eyes, nose, lips and ears were gone, and judging by the look of agony in that disfigured face, he was still alive when they did _that_ to him.

Lara was slowly regaining control of herself. She breathed deeply several times and suddenly threw her head back and laughed.

David Flynck's head was spinning slowly, caught by the hair in Bad Cop's hand, as he turned and exchanged a puzzled glance with his partner, who looked at her confused. Of course, that wasn't the expected reaction.

Lara was still laughing to tears, laughing with relief. Then she shook her head, looked at her confused questioner and said: “Tell your friend to take this thing away from my sight.”

“You find funny, right?” Stammered the other.

She nodded, smiling calmly. “Yeah, very funny.” _Thanks for finishing what I started_. “He's not a friend. Not this one. I left him tied to die alone in the jungle. Take it from my sight, I said.” She hissed, looking aggressively at Bad Cop, who dropped the arm holding the head - not that he'd understood her, of course. “My friend is the other one.” She leaned forward and smiled playfully. “My friend is the gunship helicopter pilot. Oh, you know who he is?” She said, reading the surprise in the eyes of her questioner. “Yes, the same one that has been killing all of you from the air.”

The tide had changed. Now _they_ were confused and disoriented. Good Cop opened his mouth, but Lara cut him off: “Let's do this. Yes, my daughter has the Teardrop of Brahma. Yes, of course I lied to you, I wouldn't put her in your hands, but after this idiot spilled the beans,” She said, glancing at the head Bad Cop was still holding, “it makes no sense to hide it.” She leaned back, resting on the back of the chair, secure and confident. She still looked terrible, but didn't seem tired or sore anymore. “You want the Teardrop, I want to get out of this hole. I don't care what you do with this country. It's your country, after all. Tomorrow we go north, to the hospital, where my daughter and the Teardrop are, because this scum,” she said, nodding toward what was left of Flynck, “ _dared_ to touch her. So I left him tied to rot in the jungle.” She licked her dry, chapped lips. “You get the stone, we're out of this place. Deal?”

Good Cop didn't answer, but nodded to his partner and he went back, putting the head back in the sack.

“And one more thing.” Concluded Lara. “You'll get _nothing_ from me if you touch me. I’m serious. You can do with me what you want: I won't cooperate. I've had worse, pretty much worse than this. I've faced people that make you look like kindergarten brats.” She cast her despising gaze at the three of them, including the guard at the door. “I've endured things that make what you've done to your companion look ridiculous. So let us be clear: you had your moment of glory. Now it's simple: you lay a finger on me, and I won't cooperate. You touch me with those filthy tools, you get nothing from me. You try to threaten me again with _my friend_ , or you touch a single hair of my daughter's head,” she leaned forward again and fixed her eyes on his opponent, _“and I kill you all.”_

A heavy silence followed her speech, in which only the buzzing of flies, breathing occupants and at the distance, the cries of pain and anger of the prisoners could be heard.

Finally, Good Cop spoke. “Now I understand why you famous.” He smiled. _This looks bad_ , thought Lara. “I like. You have spirit.” He turned to his companion and exchanged a few quick sentences with him. Then he added: “Deal. You give stone, we let go.”

_And that's it? That easy?_

But the guerrilla was not over. “We not touch. We not hurt.” He smiled. “But you need lesson. Too much spirit. Bring problems.” Then he barked an order, and this time he translated for her to understand: “Get Miss Croft again in cage.” And he leaned back in his chair, satisfied. “You more kind tomorrow, okay?”

 

* * *

 

He noted the fingertip on the cheek, stretching it down to open the eye. At first it was blurry, but then he saw her, examining him intently. That _butcher_.

“Get your hands off me.” Kendrick muttered.

He'd like to punch her - no matter she was a woman - but he could barely move, barely breathe: from the waist down, all him was an explosion of pain. More precisely a constant wave of throbbing, burning pain, more or less focused on his left leg.

Oh, wait. There was _no_ such leg anymore. His thigh now ended in a grotesque stump, heavily bandaged and certainly smelling better than when it was whole. He knew it though he hadn't seen yet. Nor he wanted to.

“Cheer up, Colonel.” She smiled. “You're alive. You'll make it.”

“Shut the fuck up and go mutilate someone else.”

She didn't seem offended by his reply, since she continued examining him, turning his head and showing that irritating smile, until she approved with a nod and stood up. Then she looked to the left and her face became a mask of terror. Almost instantly, she puts her hands to her mouth and screamed.

Although the last thing he wanted was to move, Kendrick couldn't help turning his head to where she was looking, where the girl was laying, the daughter of his former partner.

 _“What the..!?”_ He gasped, and for a brief moment, he even forgot he was a crippled man now.

 

* * *

 

The next few hours in the cage were even worse. Together with pain and humiliation, weariness, hunger and thirst, a blind and deaf rage slowly devoured her from the inside. Lara had played the few cards she had, and although she hadn't exactly lost, _this_ didn't feel like success.

The next morning they would take her to the hospital, to Kurtis and to Anna, and who knew what could happen. She would've given _anything_ to have that bloody Teardrop of Brahma right here and shove it down that wretch's throat, choking him if possible.

The evening was dreadful and the night only made it worse. It was impossible to rest within that torture box, but her strength had reached its limits and began to swing between periods of consciousness and unconsciousness, waking up just to hear the screams, moans and sobs of the other prisoners.

At midnight, a poor wench who was locked in a cage next to her suffered what Lara had prevented thanks to her gifted gab. When they were done with her and threw her back into her prison, the sobbing girl began to bang her head against the bars of the cage. And she kept doing it for hours.

Lara couldn't stand that. She gritted her teeth and buried her head on her chest, but there was no way to escape the rhythmic pounding at her side - _bam, bam, bam_ \- and the whimpering.

 _Shut up_ , she muttered mentally. _Shut up. Shut up. Shut up._

She didn't want to think. She didn't want to remember, since thanks to that endless torment, there were some unpleasant memories, deep in her subconscious, which began to emerge. Things that had happened long ago, before Anna was born, things she didn't remember, things she'd forgotten. More time like that and she would go crazy.

If trying to detach from physical pain, she sank into that darkness. And out of it, she could only try to shift and get waves of pain throughout the body. And again hearing the ravings of her companion of misfortune.

She'd almost completely lost sense of time, and reality itself, when she heard the first explosion.

 

* * *

 

Obviously, neither his name was Good Cop, nor his colleague’s name was Bad Cop, even the poor Idiot At The Door didn’t deserved such a name, for that had been his first day guarding the door. As for Good Cop and Bad Cop, they hadn't signed on for that, but there was no doubt they were good at it and had come to enjoy it, so the fact they would've preferred to be elsewhere or play another role wasn't an excuse.

The military, when asked to account for the committed actions, tended to excuse themselves with the argument of following superiors' orders. These were not military, only slaughterers of fortune who'd found their chance during the rebellion to thrive, but that made no difference: as for following orders, they followed them to the letter, and if needed, even _excessively_. So Good Cop and Bad Cop didn't give a damn about who sat in front of them: at the end of each session, their "guest" had to be on the brink. With most was easy, especially with women, always so vulnerable. Sometimes, a prisoner meant a challenge. That increased the fun of a task which was, for the rest, as stressful as disgusting.

Torture, torture, torture. They could get used to it, why not.

Although to be honest, that Western woman, the famous Lara Croft, had managed to upset Good Cop. He didn't know much about her - not that it mattered: one more among thousands of white people who came every year to the island to plunder the wealth rightfully belonging to them. Let no one think, of course, that Good Cop give a damn about Sri Lanka's rich cultural, historical and artistic heritage. He would've needed to be born in another environment and received another kind of education to appreciate it. No, he wanted the Teardrop of Brahma – as that woman had said, to sell it and pocket its value. Or maybe give it to his superiors in exchange of favors and a rise in paramilitary hierarchy. He still hadn't decided.

So he'd spared her as far as possible, without risking losing the respect of his colleagues. No injuries or mutilations, no rape, not yet. Once they were done and the amber stone was in his hand, then yes, this woman was going to regret being born. And so her daughter, why not. And that bastard gunship pilot, even more. Such good trophies for his bosses.

He'd decided it, he'd settled it up with Bad Cop and were both more than satisfied and confident in their plan, after having informed the others that the next day would depart on an expedition to the north, and were about to go to sleep, when they heard the first explosion.

 

* * *

 

If something exploded in a military camp - paramilitary in this case - it was that someone had screwed up. Some rebels were drunk and playing cards. It would have been great if one of them had played with a grenade and had accidentally blown up their asses.

Lara expected it wholeheartedly. Unfortunately, that was not going to solve her situation. Maybe if...

“Hey!” She shouted at the two guerrillas the prisoners fencing, a few meters from her. “Hey!” God, they seemed like idiots. That, or a yelling prisoner didn't make a difference. Battling the lashes of pain still coursing through her body, Lara twisted to put her head toward them. “What happened?”

Of course, they didn't understand. But one of them turned abruptly, pounced on her and, raising both hands holding the rifle, slammed a brutal recoil against the bars.

Lara withdrew in time, otherwise it would've smashed her face. She crouched against the bottom of the cage while the rebel spilled a torrent of Tamil curses she couldn't understand, thank goodness. But then something happened she hadn’t counted on: he raised his rifle again to hit her.

Then a second explosion sounded.

The warden's face showed a puzzled expression. Immediately he turned around and, after exchanging a couple of dry sentences with his companion, disappeared towards the camp, swallowed up by the darkness. Minutes later, with the third explosion, chaos erupted in the camp and the remaining guard also abandoned his position.

That, and a thin, but long, deep crack in two of the bars – a gift from the first guard, was all Lara needed.

 

* * *

 

Each of the explosions sounded in different and opposite ends of the camp. Lara also had an ear for that. Surely it was an external attack, but she had no time to worry about it.

The last effort was going to be very painful, but it was her only chance.

Twisting to put her back against the bottom bars, Lara withdrew her legs against her chest and kicked the cracked bars. She only got another lash of pain that rose through her from the toes to the hips. She took a deep breath, grabbed the bottom bars, and kicked again. Same result.

She didn't give up - kicked once more, and another, and another. She had, as she’d always had due to hard training, very strong legs, but now she was exhausted and sore and those bamboo bars were strong, thick and compact, tightly sealed and intertwined with each other with tightropes. But she had to break them, or everything would be lost. Lara harbored little hope that those bastards would keep their word.

Five. Six. Seven. She breathed again. And again. The pain was now a kind of numbness, tingling dull. She was about to exceed that limit. Soaked in sweat, and gritting her teeth to hold a curse, Lara kicked back with the little strength she'd left.

Then she heard a crash.

“Yes!” She gasped. The crack had widened. Ignoring her cage mate next door, who'd stopped beating her head against the bamboo and was looking dumbfounded at her for a while, she restarted her kicks. She had to break it.

Two more explosions had sounded in two different places, but Lara was no longer paying attention. The bars had begun to sag, bending by the fracture's area. Every time she kicked, them, a creak could be heard.

And suddenly, they relented.

The woman who was in the next cage winced when the bars turned out, erupting into several splinters as if they were the teeth of a piranha. Lara tried kicking again, but her leg got caught in the shards. When one of them stabbed her flesh, she couldn't help but whimper.

She was going to have to go out head first, and that was going to hurt like hell.

But not as much as staying there.

And no more explosions were heard. She had to move. She had to get out of there. _Now_.

Twisting back to stand in front of the hole, she lunged at it, pushing with all her strength, trying to widen the hole with her own body, too bad her hands were still tied behind her back.

Out of the corner of her eye Lara glimpsed the woman gaping at her. She must look insane, sweating and grunting and struggling to get through a gap between two tiny splintered bars.

If she were insane but still alive and free at the end of the day, then fine.

Lara yelped in pain when she noticed those bamboo splinters hurting her scalp and, when taking her torso through the hole, scratching her skin and opening furrows in the flesh. By the time she was out up to the waist, she was also dirty, her clothes torn and bleeding.

The prisoner woman kept staring at her, open mouthed.

“Yes, I know.” Growled Lara. “This looks like bloody childbirth.”

Then, either by fatigue, despair or that foolishness, she burst into laughter, but it was short-lived. She winced and stopped - one of the splinters was digging into her side. To be impaled would be the last thing to suit her now.

And then she heard them. Amid the darkness, voices approaching. The wardens were returning.

 _Not now_ , shouted some part of her brain. If she got caught, she'd be lost.

Summoning her last strength, she pushed forward again. She was almost out.

Almost.

 

* * *

 

A large, dark shadow appeared before her. The woman next to her squealed and took refuge at the bottom of her cage. With a cry of despair, Lara tried to head-butt her opponent, but he dodged her quickly. Strong, brutal arms grabbed her and began to pull her forward. She defended herself, turned her head sharply and tried to bite her attacker, but a huge, warm hand grabbed her face and covered her mouth while pulling her out of that prison. Bamboo splinters tore her skin, causing her countless cuts.

God, it hurt like hell.

After a brief fall she was on the muddy ground, writhing like an eel, fighting fiercely, but then she was pressed against a big, strong, warm body, a soldier's body, and a masculine scent she knew well flooded her, _that_ mixture of tobacco smoked furtively, sweat and leather and gasoline, and something else, his particular, indescribable, unique smell. And his _voice_.

“Hush, be quiet.” He whispered in her ear. “It's me. Gotcha.”

She relaxed her muscles, quit fighting, and let him drag her several meters over the ground full of dead leaves. Everything disappeared from their sight, the camp, cages, distant voices, even lights and electrical generators. The darkness swallowed them.

When they were far enough to not hear anything but jungle noises, he left her on the ground. Now she could distinguish him, dressed in the same uniform as them and renovated camouflage to darken his white skin. He flipped her on her side, pulled out a knife and cut the bonds on her hands and feet. He was serious, pale, circumspect.

_Overprotective fool._

“Sorry.” He muttered as he cut her several times by introducing the blade under the bonds, dug in her flesh. She wasn't sorry. The stinging and burning sensation of blood circulating again through her sore limbs was a hundred thousand times more painful. Even the cuts weren't _that_ serious.

She didn't care anymore for anything but looking at his face, stern and appealing at the same time, in a rude, rough, very manly way. As she'd looked at him years ago, in the Louvre, the first time she had him close enough to breathe his breath: first glance down to his lips, and then slowly lifting it to look directly into his eyes. Those eyes as blue as a calm sea, as an almost night sky.

Kurtis, oblivious to her distress, ran his hand behind her shoulders and helped her up: “You ok? C'mon, no time to was...” And then noticed Lara's hands holding his face and her lips touching his mouth. _Really?_ His brain shouted. After all she'd done?

But he was already embracing her waist and brutally pressing her against him, devouring her with a hungry kiss. He heard her moaning breathlessly, almost into his mouth, not sure whether in pain or in pleasure. Or both.

It was madness, they had to run. They could be seized. The whole system of explosives, of traps he'd carefully prepared to throw them off and get her out, his whole plan... to hell.

 _Stop. Stop it._ Who said it? She'd not uttered a word, and he was left without any. And if he didn't stop that, they would end up having sex right there.

Fucking madness.

Still holding her against him, he withdrew to look at her. She was smiling, with that smile of hers, sarcastic and self-confident. _You gotta be kidding me_. The world crumbling around them, Anna wounded and abandoned in a dirty hospital, and she there laughing, covered in mud and blood, her body racked with pain, but as if nothing happened, even enjoying it, more alive than ever. More beautiful than ever. _God_.

Lara twisted her head and teased him with her brown eyes. Really, she was a lost cause. At least she wasn't telling him what the hell was he doing there, or that she knew how to take care of herself, but still teasing him with that sassy glance.

When he finally managed to control himself and was taking her arm to lift her and move on, she brought her lips to his ear and whispered: “Glad you came back to save me, stranger.”

 _Damn_ , Kurtis thought for a single, brief and fleeting moment, before grabbing her wrists and pushing her back, to lay her down over the soft leaves.


	6. The Inner Light

“You gotta be kidding me.” Lara sighed as she took in the hospital, crowded with wounded refugees amid an amalgam of coughs, cries and moans. She leaned on Kurtis for a moment who held her instinctively, although they both were exhausted, and not only by the hasty flight through the jungle. Fortunately, _that_ sudden influx of adrenaline had been crucial in keeping them going when they otherwise would've already fallen apart.

“Anna's on the third floor with Kendrick, the partner I've mentioned before.” Kurtis explained. “Seems no one’s arrived yet to evacuate them. I should go check on the chopper. The sooner we get outta here, the better.”

Lara nodded, too tired to argue. “Alright. I'll get her.”

“Don't think you can lift her. We have to get Matt too and he's really awf...”

“I _can_ handle this. I'm good at improvising.” She cut off, kissing him. “You keep the engine ready for us.” And without giving him time to reply, she pushed her way through the mass of people wandering and lying on the grass, ignoring their shoving, grunting, and their hands grabbing her arm or leg for no reason. Soon they left her alone and even began to pull away, intimidated by her presence and boldness.

Kurtis sighed and walked away, going towards the wooded area where he'd left the helicopter.

Of course, she _always_ had to have the last word.

 

* * *

 

Who didn't seem intimidated at all by Lara's attitude was an exhausted and disheveled nurse, who waylaid her when she tried to enter the hospital and stopped her with a gesture. “I'm sorry!” She shouted to be heard above the crowd. She spoke in fairly good English. “You can't get in, it's overcrowded inside. We can attend you here.” While the newcomer was covered with blood and dirt, she concluded that her injuries weren't serious, considering she had already managed to stand on her feet.

“No need for that.” Lara said, and took a step forward. “I'm looking for...”

“Halt!” The nurse yelled again, raising her hand. “You _can't_ get in, and especially not armed.”

Lara snorted. _It must be a joke, indeed_. “Soon you'll need not one but _many_ armed people. The rebels are coming!” She yelled in her face. “I’ve just come from the jungle and they’re not far behind me. This is going to be a slaughter.” And again, she dodged her and went inside.

The nurse, who must have been either very brave or very foolish, followed her while protesting. “If you're looking for someone, it will be diffic...”

“Looking for a military man with an injured leg and a girl of about fourteen.”

Suddenly, the nurse stopped protesting. Startled, Lara turned to her. “Ah, yes. The handsome soldier's child.” She smiled, dreamy, without noticing that her interlocutor’s left eyebrow jerked upwards. “They arrived a few hours ago, but he had to leave. Are you related to them?”

“The girl is my daughter.”

The nurse then looked down and let out a deep sigh. Lara tried to contain her annoyance. _Yes, this is a bloody joke._

“I am _so_ sorry.” The nurse said then. “She's... really bad. A brain concussion...”

“Where is she?” Lara cut off, and turning around, strode down the corridor, deftly dodging patients, doctors, family members and wounded flowing in a continuous stream, forcing the nurse to run after her, stumbling.

“Please, stop! You shouldn't...!”

Lara paid no attention. She left the nurse behind, filtering through a mass of stretchers and operating rooms, and began to search the rooms at full speed. The people stared at her: an athletic woman, dressed in hiking clothes, skin covered with remains of mud and blood, and armed to the teeth. At some point she thought she heard someone shouting: "Hey! Is she...?" but she passed by without no more, swatting or pushing away anyone who tried to stop her.

She took the stairs two at a time, dodging the people who were lying and releasing herself abruptly from those who, out of desperation or simple impulse, attempted to grab her. But when she arrived at the hall on the third floor, a chill shook her up and down.

The hall was completely blocked by people. Sick, injured, some standing on their feet – those who still could - and the rest sitting on the floor. All facing an open door, blocking her sight. By making her path by pushing people aside, she saw those who were around the doorframe had knelt on the floor and looked into the room.

Some were crying. Some were silent. Others quickly whispered a few words in a low voice. Lara took a moment to realize they were _praying_ , some with outstretched hands, others with folded hands, others with hands crossed on their chest, depending on the religion to which they belonged, if they belonged to any.

But everyone, absolutely _everyone_ , looked into the room with an expression of rapture. Of absolute, adoring worship.

What the hell was going on?

“Let me pass.” She muttered when they blocked her way again. She began to push people without minding the sick and wounded. “Let me pass, dammit!”

They did not understand her, obviously. She barely managed to take ten steps toward the room while she continued to shout to let her pass. Nobody budged an inch. Those who were kneeling didn't even blink, much less look away from the vision that kept them raptured. As if they were seeing an angel.

 

* * *

 

Matthew Kendrick was already resigned to be at the front line of the show when he heard a woman shouting in the hallway. Then, a shot was heard and the crowd thronged in the corridor and the room itself seemed to shrink and cry.

Another shot rang out. And other. And other.

The praying crowd retreated, terrified, to make way for a woman the colonel had never seen in person, but who he immediately recognized: an athletic and delectable body, an expressive and defiant face, an impatient and wild look - and all that while being dirty, covered in wounds, her clothes torn, her hair disheveled. She still held the gun up, pointed at the ceiling, with which she had shot her way off.

The brat hadn't lied, then.

“Holy shit.” He muttered, amazed.

But the British explorer barely noticed him. She was staring, open-mouthed and wide-eyed, at the girl lying next to him on the couch. Her astonishment lasted only a few seconds. Then she quickly tucked the gun in the back pocket of her torn shorts and in two strides went beside her daughter and leaned over her.

“Don't... don't worry.” The colonel said, his voice sounding shaky and stupid. _Hell, I'm talking to Lara Croft_. “The... the kid will be fine. I... saw something like this... years ago, when serving with her father...”

Lara looked at him for the first time. The colonel couldn't help but wince. God, she was even more impressive live. He was so entranced watching her it took him a few seconds to read the expression in her eyes. _She knows. Dammit... she knows._

“I know.” She murmured then, and smiled. _My God_ , thought Matt. That bastard Trent... how had he done it? “Colonel Matthew Kendrick, right? I'm Lara Croft.”

“Y-yes...” He muttered, like a fucking dork. “At your service.” And he'd never meant it more.

She smiled again and looked back at her daughter - who was startlingly alike to her, Matt noticed. She gently pushed strands of damp hair that clung to her daughter’s flushed face, covered with a film of sweat.

All around them, kneeling on the floor by her, people approached again - dozens of voices whispering under their breath, gathered in prayer.

 

* * *

 

At least in that place she could rest, if resting was what she was doing. But Lara couldn't tell.

She didn't know how long she sat there, her back against the wall and her daughter in her arms, holding her against her chest and barely taking her eyes off her face. She knew that people were huddled around, but that legion of worshipers still didn't make a single noise, they were there just watching and praying, and if someone tried to touch Anna, Colonel Kendrick quickly stretched a crutch and pushed the intruder back without violence, but decisively.

Lara knew she had to do several things, starting with finding someone in that damn hospital that could inform her about the status of communications, the rebel front, and contact authorities. She also had to meet Kurtis, take the helicopter and get out of that living hell.

But she did nothing for she couldn't leave Anna alone. Nor did she want to. She was blank, unable to do anything but hold her and watch the door, hoping and fearing the moment Kurtis came and noticed what was happening to his daughter.

That _wouldn't_ be easy to deal with.

_This shouldn't be happening._

But it was happening.

The body in her arms was warm, surprisingly warm, increasingly warmer. Soon she would be burning up, like she’d have a very high fever. A film of sweat covered her skin, reaching also her wet, bloody hair. Still unconscious, but breathing, so agitated and irregular, shaken by involuntary spasms.

_Luceat eais... in materia virentis..._

But it wasn't fever, although it seemed like one. And she also wasn’t dying, but dammit, it looked like that.

Lara leaned over Anna to partially cover her with her body when another spectator reached out and grabbed her frantically - before Kendrick shoved him aside with his crutch, so the intruder left that _shining_ girl alone.

_Volare incipit ab initio... ad scopus..._

A girl who was shining with a soft, faint, almost imperceptible orange glow.

Anna moved her lips frantically, muttering something without voice, without knowing what she said, lost in the depths of her own unconsciousness.

_Maxima vires... ad incrementum..._

But Lara knew that chant perfectly. She didn't even need to hear it. Not even read her lips.

The thing was she couldn't tell how Anna could know it.

 

* * *

 

When Kurtis returned, it was after preparing the helicopter and finally contacting radio with India, only to discover that no one would come for Kendrick and therefore, it was he who had to evacuate them all. He brusquely pushed through the people who were stuck in their spot like idiots, and saw them both together with Kendrick: his daughter in her mother's arms, who rocked her gently to calm her down, as the girl was still shaken by mild spasms.

“Trent!” Kendrick suddenly shouted. Incidentally, he looked better missing a leg. “What the...?”

Lara put a finger to her lips and stared at him, making him instantly silent. He even shrank slightly. Surely the woman had make a great impression upon him. But Kurtis barely noticed. He stared at her daughter. Then at Lara.

He seemed to have suddenly aged ten years.

“Is it...?” Lara muttered, lowering her voice.

Kurtis closed his eyes as if in pain, and finally nodded in a weary gesture.

Lara turned to look down at her daughter, who kept mumbling a psalmody she didn't know, she'd never heard in her life, in a language she'd not learned yet.

_Lux Veritatis mecum._

 

* * *

 

**_New Delhi, three days later_ **

Just after they arrived to India, it was broadcast on television that the Sri Lankan rebels had blown up the entire temple complex in the jungle.

Sitting in her bed in a very different hospital, still dressed in pajamas but without any kind of discomfort left, Anna watched that home-made, clumsy and brutal broadcasting in horror. With poor audio due to the paramilitaries' howls and the sound of the explosion, she watched... how those old, beautiful buildings – which she'd played around the previous week and had been there for centuries - disappeared forever, collapsing on themselves in the midst of vast clouds of dust and dirt.

“Bastards.” She muttered, trying not to weep in rage. She failed after a few seconds. The images of that unfair devastation dissolved behind a curtain of tears.

Despite the loud television volume, her fine ear distinguished footsteps in the hallway, so she sniffled and wiped her cheeks with swipes. When her mother entered the room, she was again staring at the screen with a calm expression. Anna noticed her standing beside the bed and when she looked up at her, she saw Lara looking at the images, apparently calm but with a flash of anger in her eyes. She still had marks all over her body: cuts, bruises, a swollen cheek, but otherwise she was as good as ever.

Anna didn't know how to be quiet for too long, so she suddenly blurted: “Can't believe it... of all _that”_ she said, making a vague gesture toward the disappeared temples, _“this_ is all that remains.” She looked down at the thick carved amber stone resting on her lap.

Lara glanced at her daughter as she absently stroked the Teardrop of Brahma. She could pretend to be calm, but noticed her reddened nose and eyes. “How are you feeling now?” Lara sat beside her and gently stroked her forehead, now bandaged with a fresh patch. “Does it hurt?”

“Please.” Said the girl, rolling her eyes.

Lara decided not to tell her the rest of the tale, at least for now. If the destruction of that jewel of antiquity disturbed her like that, better for her not to know yet what those rebels had done with the hospital when they assaulted it... with all the sick and wounded.

And also what had happened to herself, while she was unconscious.

“It's always like this.” Lara categorically said, making a vague gesture toward the TV. “They destroy what's older than them, which would have lasted longer than them, and feel better for it.”

Anna continued to stroke the amber stone. “It's a shame we have to give it to the counts, right?” She said, referring to those who'd commissioned it back. “But now that it’s all that remains, it’s become very valuable, I guess.”

“We're not going to deliver it to the counts.” Anna looked up in surprise. Her mother smiled, albeit with a rare grin due to her swollen face. “It's yours. You've earned it, after all.”

The girl's face lit up with a broad smile and suddenly threw her arms around her and pressed a slobbery kiss on Lara's cheek. Fortunately, on the healthy one.

Lara jumped. A part of her would never get used to the intense displays of affection of her daughter, as well as being called "mom". Her parents had raised her up with money, but loveless. The most that could’ve been expected from Lord Croft was a dry nod of approval. As for Lady Croft, kissing her daughter on the forehead had been the height of sentimentality.

Lara wondered from whom Anna had inherited that affectionate personality. Probably Winston, who'd raised her in her early years with all the tenderness of his dotard ways. The same tenderness that, because of respect, he'd never dared to display towards Lara herself.

“Now I'm gonna finish that sketch!” Anna was saying, enthusiastic.  “But what will they say...”

“Leave them to me.” Lara placed a lock of brown hair behind her ear and stood. “Have a rest. Sleep a little. In a few hours we’ll return to England.”

“But I've been sleeping most of the tim...”

A soft bang notified her the end of the discussion.

 

* * *

 

“Well. C'mon. Let it out.” Kendrick muttered, gnawing on a huge Havana cigar.

Kurtis looked at him askance.

“Don't play dumb as always.” The colonel growled. “Because of you I lost a bloody leg. So tell me. How did you do it?”

“It’s not your business.” A slight grin danced in the corner of the ex-legionnaire's mouth.

Kendrick snarled. “You lucky bastard. This woman was out of reach, no more for us than a poster at Clarkson's box office. You remember? A crumpled and sticky post...”

Kurtis cleared his throat audibly. Lara brisk approached from the other side of the yard, graceful and elegant despite being still covered with bruises and cuts.

“You mention that poster again and I'll rip off your other leg.” Muttered the ex-legionnaire before putting a cigarette between his lips.

“Lady Croft!” The colonel said loudly, bowing his head in greeting. “You're ravishing this morning. May l? I've practiced this all my life for the moment I'd meet a _real_ lady.” And he held out his hand to her.

It was tender, almost comical, to see him there, sitting in a wheelchair, the cigar between his teeth and an outstretched hand, his face hopeful. Lara smiled and held out her hand, which he took and kissed, as gently as unhurriedly.

“Don't overdo it, Matt.” Kurtis growled.

“Relax, pal.” Protested the colonel. “ _Enchanté_ , my dear. Well, I’ll leave you alone. Gotta go claim my veteran pension.” And he began to push the wheels of his chair in the middle of a spasmodic squeak.

“Should we not be the ones to leave, Colonel?” Lara smiled. “At this rate we'll be old when you get to the middle of the yard.”

“You don't look like you can age, my dear.” Kendrick said, and mischievously winked his eye at her.

“What the hell.” Kurtis muttered when the metallic screech was out of earshot.

Lara turned to him with that bright and charming smile of hers. Without transition, she snatched the cigarette from his mouth and threw it to the ground, then stepped on it with the heel of her boot.

“Don't complain. You also had your fun.”

“Me?”

“Yes. That little Sri Lankan nurse...”

“Oh, please, don't.” He looked down at the crushed cigarette. “Couldn't you let me have this one? I think I've earned it. Quite.”

Lara put her arms around his neck. “What do you choose, tobacco or me?”

“What tobacco?” He joked absently, and taking her face with his hands, stroked her cheeks with his thumbs. “Does it hurt?” He said, referring to the blackish swelling on her face.

“Please.” She rolled her eyes, unconsciously imitating the same gesture her daughter had done moments before. “You know what happened to the people in the hospital?”

“Yes, I heard this morning. It happened shortly after we left.”

“After _you_ got us out of there.” Lara leaned her forehead against his. “You're right. You deserve a reward.” She added mischievously.

“I thought I got _that_ in the jungle.”

“Oh no.” She smiled, toying with the strands of hair falling over his forehead. “That was just the appetizer.”

Lara let him kiss her for a while, then threw her head back proudly away from him.

“You're always doing that.” He sighed.

“You're always complaining.” She laughed. “Go see Anna. She woke up.”

“Is she...?”

“Perfectly. And she doesn't remember anything.”

She saw him hesitate for a moment. Before he could speak, she cut him off: “We'll talk about _that_ when we get back. Now I'm going to the embassy to see if Zip has managed to send me a damn passport.” Lara snorted and walked away with the same elegance she'd approached before. “Such a shame my hands were tied, I'd have loved to choke the idiot who burned it.”

Kurtis laughed softly. “Don't worry. He was the second one I killed.” He looked into her eyes then. “Guess who was the first.”

Lara tilted her head and distractedly touched her swollen cheek. “Overprotective fool”. She mouthed, and turned her back. Before leaving, she added. “Sometimes I forget how useful you can be.”

“Thanks.” Kurtis growled as he watched her walk away.

He waited for the sound of her footsteps to fade away. Then he groped his pocket, pulled another cigarette from the pack and put it in his mouth.

He was going to need it from now on. Perhaps more than ever.

His daughter had inherited the curse of his lineage.

It made no sense. But it had happened.

The Gift had awakened in Anna.

_“Lux Veritatis mecum.”_ He sighed, depressed, and lit the cigarette.

 

* * *

 

_Personal notes of Dr. Kumari. On April 13, 2020_

_Patient: Anna Croft_

_Age: 14_

_Daughter of: Lara Croft. Father of unknown identity._

_Diagnosis: Presumptive head trauma with suspected concussion_

_I say "suspected" because, right now, no damage or serious sequelae is observed in the patient. From the description of the attack, the patient should be suffering terrible consequences amid a slow recovery. However, nothing is seen except for a slight scar on her forehead, the suture evolving favorably._

_What's striking is that the patient didn't present any internal injury when she finally got to be examined in New Delhi, after the emergency evacuation from Sri Lanka. The nurse who attended her previously, also evacuated, stated that the patient had gone through a severe episode of fever, convulsions, loss of consciousness and delirium, in which the patient was said to be "singing in a strange language and shining like a lamp" (sic). However, none of these symptoms (?) were present at the time I examined her._

_The patient, in a conscious, quiet, and even cheerful status, underwent a series of tests which confirmed the total normality in the apparently injured area, except for the suture. Questioned about her delirium tremens, she stated not remembering anything since she arrived to the hospital in Sri Lanka. She has no memory of what happened while in a state of unconsciousness. Asked about whether she knew Latin, the patient laughed and said "nope" (sic). Her parents refuse to make statements about it and there are no witnesses who can test the version of my colleague, for all those who observed the phenomenon (?) died in the slaughter that followed the emergency evacuation._

_I conclude that my colleague from Sri Lanka has certainly exaggerated the severity of the patient's injuries, or might have, in the middle this health emergency, mistook her for some other. It's virtually impossible for the patient, having suffered such trauma, to emerge without brain damage or notable consequences of this episode. So I proceed to close this case._

_However, it's remarkable that my colleague insists it was this patient, and not another one. "Say what you want, but it's like a miracle. If it didn’t sound crazy, I would say that child has healed herself." (sic)_

_Honestly, I think there's no doubt that what happened in Sri Lanka was an episode of mass hysteria in which a pained and desperate crowd thought to see things that never happened. Right now, the panorama on the neighboring island is shocking and the rage and impotence generated by the passivity of the world powers before this carnage makes, in my humble opinion, the adventures of three Westerners in the middle of all this chaos totally irrelevant._

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> So here comes my next fanfic, The Awakening . It was supposed to be another oneshot but the thing went out of hand, so it has become a mini-fanfic of 5 chapters.
> 
> Of course, these events take place after the events in The Golden Seal, Lilith's Scepter and the one-shot A Bundle of Photos. I hope you like it. Thank you so much to Claire Sail for being a flawless beta-reader.
> 
> Some situations and details are not described for a reason: I prefer to leave them to the reader's imagination. However, they are based on real situations and conflicts, though with certain modifications to suit the plot.  
> Disclaimer: Of course, I do not own anything related with Tomb Raider, Lara Croft of Kurtis Trent (that being the case, I wouldn't write fanfics but have TRAOD finished instead, of course).  
> 


End file.
